“Trippers and askers surround me,
People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward and city I live
     in, or the nation,
The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new,
My dinner, dress associates, looks compliments, dues,
The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,
The sickness of one of my folks or of myself, or ill-doing or loss or lack of
     money, or depressions or exaltations,
Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful
     events;
These come to me days and nights and go from me again,
But they are not the Me myself.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am,
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary,
Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on a impalpable certain rest,
Looking with side-curved head curious what wil come next,
Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.
Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists
     and contenders,
I have no mockings or arguments, I witness and wait.”

          ~Walt Whitman, No. 4 in Song of Myself, 1855, 1881